


Five Times Stiles and Derek Slept Together

by HannahSheree



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahSheree/pseuds/HannahSheree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(and one time they actually had sex).<br/>The first time Derek and Stiles sleep together is after yet another night of everyone trying to save each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Stiles and Derek Slept Together

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for potential underage sex. Stiles graduates high school in this, and my research leads me to believe that many students graduate high school at about age 18. So let's pretend he's 18, but if you're at all uncomfortable with that assumption... warnings apply. 
> 
> Also, apologies for any mistakes with characterisation... I'm only up to 2.08 and may not have a firm grasp of their characterisation. Still, I'm trying and will get it eventually ^.^

_One._

The first time Derek and Stiles sleep together is after yet another night of everyone trying to save each other's asses. Stiles, being what is basically considered by other supernatural beings as the pack's "pet", has of course been held hostage, tortured a little, and then needed to be saved by his angry pack. Stiles doesn't usually need saving, likes to think he can defend himself and hold his own pretty damn well, but then Derek is there, putting himself between Stiles and the rogue witches, snarling and wolfing out in a way Stiles hasn't seen in a very long time.

Derek gets hurt, but that's nothing new either. Still, Stiles doesn't like seeing blood gushing out of Derek's chest and gut taking their sweet time to heal over. It's not a pretty sight, and Stiles has seen some pretty gory things in the past two years. Derek's efforts result in Stiles escaping the magical clutches of the evil witches, and somehow they help each other out of the underground caves. Stiles can hardly walk. He tries to play it off cool, with jokes about how Derek took his sweet time, but the fact is that he's beaten and bruised, every inch of his body screaming as he stumbles out. Derek is supporting a lot of his weight, which Stiles finds kind of weird given he definitely feels he's supporting most of Derek's.

Back at the Stilinski household, Derek and Stiles take turns showering. Scott is having Allison troubles and Isaac is busy checking out that nobody else is trying to wreak havoc on Beacon Hills, so it's just Derek and Stiles. When Stiles suggests that Derek can go home now, Derek just growls and glares, apparently insisting on staying there lest Stiles get himself into trouble again. By now, Stiles knows better than to argue with Derek while he's manstruating (which he's starting to think is kind of all of the time…).

"Really," Stiles insists after they're both cleaned up, falling face forward into his bed, "it's okay. I'm fine. You can go home." Derek doesn't bother arguing with him, just sits on the end of Stiles' bed. Now that Stiles is on his head, he's fairly certain he's never going to get up again. God, he fucking hurts. And he's so _tired_. He rubs his face against his pillow, groaning loudly. Not lifting his face or arms off of the bed, Stiles kicks the blankets down, flailing with much more energy than he thinks he actually has.

He doesn't actually remember falling asleep. He just wakes up a few hours later, the lights in the bedroom still on, and Derek snoring across the end of the bed. He'd obviously fallen asleep almost as quickly as Stiles had, the healing of his body wearing him out. Groggily, muscles screaming at him not to move, he kicks Derek gently in the chest. "Hey," he croaks, eyes barely open, "get in." Derek grumbles and sleepily moves up to lie under the blankets with Stiles. The lights are still on, but getting up to turn them off is far beyond Stiles' current capabilities.

_Two._

The second time Stiles and Derek sleep together is when Stiles gets a normal old boring human flu. Stiles can't remember the last time he was sick, and is a giant baby about the whole thing. He bitches and whines and complains to all of his friends via text message and Snapchat. He's recently installed Snapchat on Derek's phone, and Derek hasn't worked out how to turn the notifications off, so every few minutes he's greeted by the chime of his phone and an image of Stiles looking sick but pulling a theatrical face. His eyes and nose are red and puffy and there are dark circles beneath his eyes. He really does look sick, but the facial expressions do nothing to garner Derek's sympathy. He captions each image with things like DYING and KILL ME NOW. Derek doesn't dignify his melodrama with responses, plus he's never been one to take stupid pictures of his face. Instead, he sighs and pockets the phone.

An hour later, he's climbing in Stiles' window, kicking snow off the sill and making sure he doesn't trek it inside. Stiles is curled up in bed, laptop across his legs and wearing a fucking snuggie. Ugh, Derek doesn't know why he's doing this. He really doesn't.

Stiles' stuffy, rough voice would be funny most of the time, because he still tries to talk as much as he usually does, but keeps breaking off into fits of cough and occasionally gives weak little moans to indicate how unhappy he is and how shitty he feels. Derek just rolls his eyes and makes him chicken soup, and brings him juice because Stiles keeps begging for it, and then sits beside him on the bed to watch some cartoons. Stiles insists that Avatar is an excellent show, but Derek doesn't really understand because the characters look nothing like the blue people he saw in that movie, but hey, he's not willing to get into an argument with Stiles over a stupid cartoon. Really, he's only over here because he was sick of his phone going off and seeing Stiles pull increasingly stupid faces.

Stiles manages to fall asleep on Derek's chest. They'd been sitting with only their arms brushing, but Stiles had progressively inched over, head falling to Derek's shoulder, neck and then chest. Derek attempts an escape when night began to fall, but Stiles releases a heart wrenching whine, insisting that Derek was like a giant hot water bottle and made his body ache less. With a sigh, Derek eases himself to lie down, figuring that it's got to be easier to just be utilised as a hot water bottle for the night than trying to extricate himself from Stiles' death grip.

_Three._

They're watching a movie on the couch when they fall asleep together for the third time. It’s nothing really special, but that’s kind of what makes it so special. It’s just them, on a couch, watching a movie. Derek doesn’t even know what movie it is, just that there are a lot of explosions. And cars.

Derek can’t remember the last time he sat down and casually watched a movie with someone. More to the point, he can’t remember the last time he was sitting with someone on a couch, their arms barely touching, spending time with each other. It’s… kind of nice.

He lets his guard down; something about Stiles always does that to him, although he really shouldn’t let it be like that. Stiles needs protecting so really, Derek’s guard ought to be up. Still, Stiles is chatting away and Derek feels happy and warm and the movie is frankly kind of boring. Before he knows it, he’s waking up with his head on Stiles’ lap. He’d feel embarrassed, but Stile’s fingers are still, but curled in his hair. Stiles is snoring above him.

He really ought to pull away. He _really_ should. But this is far too nice, and Stiles’ fingers are warm against his scalp. Besides, he doesn’t want to wake Stiles up. Really. He’s doing it for the greater good, staying here with his head cushioned in Stiles’ lap.

_Four._

The fourth time Stiles and Derek sleep together, Stiles is frantically preparing for his final exams. Derek doesn't have a fucking clue why he's so worried; he's seen Stiles' grades, papers and exams left on his desk, giant red A's and occasionally and A+ on them. Frankly, he thinks Stiles is a shoe in for whichever college he applies for and he definitely doesn't understand why he's stressing so much. Still, Stiles is stressing.

It's both amusing and frustrating to watch. He's pacing the room, flashcards in hand, flipping them hastily as he mumbles his way through various formulae. He keeps running his hands through his hair, tugging it when he gets something wrong, but Derek is annoyingly entranced by how his hair looks when it's all messy like that. He's also absently wondering how much Adderall Stiles has taken in the past week; he's kind of berserk right then.

Normally, Derek wouldn't be there, but he's bored and the sooner Stiles finishes his exams, the sooner he can help him figure out what to do about the burn marks he's been finding in the forest; they're unlike anything he's ever seen before, and well, Derek needs Stiles' help, loathe he admit it. The way he sees it is that he helps Stiles study, Stiles passes his exams and goes back to his usual insanity, and helps Derek solve all of the weird shit that goes down in their little town.

Still, Stiles paces and paces, and gets Derek to quiz him on chemistry and economics and English and history and wow, Stiles really is like a child on a sugar high. What goes up must come down it seems, because the next thing he knows, it's well past midnight and Stiles has crashed out on the bed beside him, snoring on his textbook. Derek won't admit it but he'd also fallen asleep, lounged lazily on Stiles' narrow bed.

Derek knows he should get up, wake them both up so he can leave and go home, let Stiles get some proper rest. Stiles is drooling on his textbook, and Derek just rolls his eyes and eases it out from under his head. Stiles makes a happy little sound in his sleep, and with another roll of the eyes, Derek grins to himself and settles himself down into the bed more comfortably.

_Five._

Derek knew Stiles would pass his exams with flying colours. It's not unexpected at all, but Stiles is still over the moon and dancing around like a lunatic. Derek is rolling his eyes, but giving a little smile. Lydia is unsurprised with her results, and Scott is happy he passed at all. Isaac, the little bastard, makes the executive decision to have a party. At Derek’s place. Ugh. Great. Just what he needs; drunk teens dancing around his house.

Stiles is the worst. He gets even chattier with some Jack in him, which is saying a lot. And he’s dancing against Derek. And he’s _smiling_ at Derek like he’s the best thing in the world. And then, later, he’s kissing Derek and making his heart pound in his chest. His mouth is wet and tastes like Jack and Coke (as if he needed Coke…) and he can hear Stiles’ heart racing, his breathing short, and when Derek finally wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist to bring him closer, he feels and hears a soft groan in his throat.

He ends up pinning Stiles to the wall, only just remembering to put his drink on the table as he does. Stiles feels perfect in his arms, and he’s fairly sure that, short of being forcibly ripped from him, he’s never going to let go. Stiles tries to direct them to the bedroom, tries to yank Derek’s pants off of him, but his hands are fumbling and drunk, and Derek has never been a romantic, but he doesn’t want this to be some drunk fuck.

Within a minute of telling Stiles to stop, and Stiles pouting, and Derek reassuring him that they can definitely take care of his virginity problem when he’s sober, Stiles is snoring into Derek’s shoulder. He smells strongly of bourbon, and sugar, and underneath it is the most perfect smell Derek has ever encountered.

He tries not to think about what that means and instead spoons up around him.

_One._

When Derek wakes up the next morning, it’s to a bleary eyed Stiles rubbing his face against his chest. Derek can’t say he minds all that much. He’d expected Stiles to have a hangover, but his eyes are bright and he’s got an impish grin that promises mischief. Shit. Derek is so gone for him.

Stiles passes him a bottle of water so he can rid himself of morning breath and bring some moisture to his mouth that the night robbed of him. Any remaining moisture disappeared as soon as Stiles rocked his hips against Derek’s thigh.

The first time they sleep together is slow, sweet morning sex, full of languid kisses. Derek spends an inordinate amount of time kissing every freckle he can find, brings Stiles up onto his lap. He lifts his hips to help Stiles ride him slowly, their chests and foreheads pressed together. Stiles makes just as much noise during sex as he does in general life, which just makes Derek work harder to at least make the sounds incoherent babblings. He knows he succeeds when Stiles buries his head in Derek’s neck, muffling his sounds on his shoulder, his legs wrapping tighter around Derek’s waist. He’s pleased, to say the absolute least.

Derek is grateful for the short refractory period of a teenager because it means that he gets to fuck Stiles again that morning, this time roughly, making shouts come from the boy beneath him. Even if werewolves didn’t have superior hearing, he knows that everyone who has the misfortune of being in the house can hear them. The bed hits the wall behind it, and Stiles mayn’t be using his words, but he’s definitely making more than his usual sounds. His pale skin is wonderful and flushed, and his neck is a mess of red and purple marks, and his lips are swollen and holy shit, it’s the best thing Derek has ever seen.

Afterwards, Stiles grins at him, and Derek rolls his eyes, a tiny smirk on his face. Stiles may be an idiot, but Derek is the idiot who kind of loves him. 


End file.
